


In Their Bones

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: AU Biscuits [6]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prehistoric, Angst, Character Death, Don't copy to another site, Hurt/Comfort, Infant Death, M/M, Pleistocene Epoch, Sign Language, the ending is what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22346317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: When empathizing with the hardships of those who came long before us, there's one good place to start.
Relationships: Link Neal/Original Female Character(s), Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal, Rhett McLaughlin/Original Female Character(s)
Series: AU Biscuits [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399561
Comments: 78
Kudos: 72





	In Their Bones

Bones, though hard and finite, can be windows. 

The lives _we_ know—spent in front of lit screens behind safe walls of nails, wood, and wire—are of the same blood of every heartbeat that allowed us to invent luxury. And while we might only know for sure the puncture marks and lacerations in femurs and skulls, those untold tales are ones we can speculate on and invent ourselves, and they flourish because we choose to see our own humanity in those who came before.

Take the fossilized remains of two hominids—both of the Pleistocene, on the brink of a cataclysmic global climate. One subspecies, already on the precipice of extinction: a hearty and strong genus of mankind; their names-turned-insult simply for being marginally less adaptable than the hyper-intelligent ones (that would be us) who shared the same Earth. Both human, both of our own.

All we have are their bones, and that’s all we need.

We’ll reanimate them from their remains; we’ll name them _Rhett_ and _Link._

* * *

The one known as Rhett (and the focus of our theories) lives in a cave, as research suggests—he’s solitary. Kicked out of his group for a hierarchy which resents the presence of two strong men rather than one. So, cast out, he lives alone, with a fire he’s built himself and a collection of whetted spears and carefully cleaned hides. He’s used to fending for one, and as such, it comes as a natural surprise when another who looks like him finds his way to the den. 

Their first interaction is a wary stare.

Language differs from group to group, so they can't talk. Not yet. 

Link tries coming inside—edges closer to the inviting fire, a sign of kindred knowledge—but Rhett grabs his spear, ready. Trust simply isn’t _given_. Not even with other humans. Link freezes and backs up slowly. He cautiously sits near the mouth of the cave, and only then does Rhett relax a little. With the distance between them as a safety net, Link lets himself look out over the foggy subtropics he’d traversed in accepting quiet.

Meals must be sought out. Hunting can’t wait. Rhett stands and walks and pauses outside, weapon at the ready for sudden movements before he turns to watch Link. The other smaller man looks up at him in confusion, so Rhett motions for him to leave; he can't risk having his home stolen by a squatter while he's away. 

Link stands and moves towards Rhett, who tenses, but he stops just far enough away and motions to Rhett's spear. 

Rhett glances between them. Shakes his head. He's not getting that, either.

With some gesturing and severe frowning, Rhett tries to pantomime: "make your own." Link squints, shakes his head in turn. The puzzled look on his face suggests he doesn't know how. How could he not, Rhett wonders. It's basic survival. Where did he come from that it was optional?

Rhett starts to leave, exasperated—but Link follows, too fast for comfort. When Rhett spins, ready to sink his spear into the stranger's chest, Link instead runs off to a nearby grove of thickets and ferns. He picks a few fronds carefully, eyes and fingers working fast. 

Curiosity piqued, Rhett inches closer with a set jaw once Link is kneeling and focused. Tugging and warping the leaves. It takes a good few minutes and another trip to grab twigs, but once he's done, Link holds up a crudely-fashioned bowl: a communal skill Rhett had never picked up before banishment.

Rhett's eyes widen, flickering between Link and his offering. Then, he nods. 

Link can stay with him. 

He points back to the cave (universal gestures are clear, thankfully) and Link smiles and starts gathering more leaves with which to craft, jogging away as Rhett considers his newfound family.

Of course, this was back when family was forgiving. “You look like me and there are monsters around,” that’s all there was to it.

* * *

Hunting is an all-day affair. Rhett treks 15 miles to the field of the grazing giant deer, and to take one down single-handed is a feat of stealth, accuracy, and strength in harmony. Sneaking as close as possible in tall grass—peering around for the telltale buckle of bears or thrum of rigidly-patient cats—he closes in on a sickly male and flings his spear with force from the elbow. The elk goes down with an injured bugle, the weapon’s point lodged in its neck. Rhett manages to put it out of its misery with a jab to the skull, and takes a moment like he always does to thank the nature of the merciless world that this time, it wasn't his blood spilled.

Hauling the massive beast back to the den alone consumes his day, and more than once he wishes the newcomer was with him to lend muscle. 

At least he'll have meat enough for them both.

He can see the flicker of warm fire in the cave glowing in the distance. Exhausted, he presses on—he'll need to stop a ways away to clean the carcass so the stench of death doesn't drop danger on their heads. He pauses at the bottom of a clear hill, grateful for moonlight, and sets about gutting his kill. 

He's hard at work—drenched in blood and offal up to his elbows and stacking thick steaks on the ground—when a sharp whistle pierces the dusk. 

That's a sound he's never heard before. 

Whipping his head up, Rhett yanks his spear free and stands. The whistle comes again, and this time, he turns and sees Link's silhouette in the mouth of his home—their home—illuminated by fire. 

Link waves his arms. Rhett stares, mesmerized at his new family who can mimic small birds. 

Before he can try to motion "stay there," Link disappears, then is bounding down across the field towards him, unarmed and careless. Rhett grimaces—wants to bark at him to send him back to safety—and then he notices Link is bringing fire with him. 

A torch. That's... clever. A weapon _and_ improved visibility. The other is smarter than Rhett assumes.

Once together, Link smiles breathlessly and holds the flame over the elk, and Rhett hunches down to work. He rends meat from bone with the blade from his hip, and this part, too is etched into bone. It’s how we know. 

Every so often Link will point at a piece of meat, expression quizzical, and Rhett will shake his head and hold his stomach in response: "Diseased. No good." 

Link catches on fast.

The carcass is cleaned as much as possible and the two men haul back their prize in the form of hefty chunks of meat. The scavengers will get the rest. Seems a waste, but that's how it goes. Sating the appetites of nearby beasts isn't a bad thing, after all.

Thankfully they both know the benefit of cooking. Link runs the steaks through with a stick and rigs a spit over the fire held together by reeds, much to Rhett's contained fascination. 

As they wait for food, Link squirms. Rhett watches him pick at the rope around his waist and the thatched cloth covering his most vulnerable parts. Nothing at all like the thick fur Rhett wears all over. 

Rhett hums to a point. When Link looks up at him, eyebrows raised, Rhett settles his hands in front of him like leaves floating to the ground: "Relax. Calm down."

Link just smiles, rocking back and forth, and Rhett can't find it in himself to be mad at the other's childlike lightheartedness. How had his tribe abandoned him...? He's smart, fit, and nice to look at... if maybe not serious enough. 

It doesn’t matter. He’s here now.

Once their meal is ready and sizzling, they eat in silence. Link is ravenous. Maybe he doesn't know how to provide for himself. That’s fine. Rhett can hunt for them both. He will, he decides, since Link offers other things.

Then it's time to sleep, and Link is allowed to curl up in half of Rhett's bed-furs. He doesn't take up much space, so it's not an inconvenience.

Rhett stares at the ceiling of the cave and wonders if the extra body makes it warmer, even with the fire gently crackling. It's weird, not being alone anymore.

Then, there's a noise.

It's... what _is_ it? 

It's up and down and carrying, long—it's coming from Link. He's not crying, but he's making noise, and it's bizarre and new and Rhett listens, brow furrowed.

Soon, his confusion melts into a soft (if humbled) appreciation for the sound. It just keeps going, like Link is telling a story through his throat yet without words, and that's the first time Rhett had known song—from a small, intelligent man who created it for him from nothingness, simply because he wanted to.

After their first night together, Link sings a lot. Rhett still doesn't understand, but it seems to make Link happy, and so long as it's done near the cave's fire, he can't see the harm.

It delivers them through the days. 

* * *

Rhett teaches Link to make spears and daggers from shale and obsidian, and Link tries to teach Rhett things as well, but soon Rhett comes to accept that the man he's taken in—while definitively frailer—simply holds a natural wit that seems to elude Rhett. It's fine, though. Link isn't bothered when Rhett fails weaving fronds together, instead smiling gently and patting Rhett’s arm and shoulder in consolation.

Link teaches _himself_ things. 

He isn't experienced in hunting, but he has a unique way of being able to look at the resources at his disposal and form entirely new things. He's something else. 

He finds an orange mud around the valley and packs it into shapes—just testing it out of curiosity. He learns that leaving it out hardens it a bit, then learns that putting it over fire sturdies it immensely. Bowls and plates and water jugs to catch rain, to bring it back from the watering hole when rains decide to pass them over.

He's truly amazing... yet he never seems to take Rhett for granted, either. Every prey taken down, every giant rock lifted or careful eye halting them when he spots danger in the distance is met with a needy grip on his wrist—a squeeze that translates easily into _"you’re important."_

* * *

It doesn't take long for their strengths to balance out and ease them into a great life. Not even in his group had Rhett enjoyed this quality of day. He wishes he could tell Link.

It's another quiet night in the cave, watching nuts and meat roasting over the fire, when Rhett turns to Link and crosses his legs. Link pays him full mind, suddenly engaged and ready for anything.

"Talk to me," Rhett says slowly, the phonemes of communication rusty on his tongue. Link's eyes widen, and for a moment, Rhett thinks that by some miracle, they speak the same.

But Link opens his mouth and noises fall out, and Rhett doesn't understand them. They're garbled to his ears. He frowns and shakes his head. Even after a few more tries—slower—Rhett can't understand him, and Link sighs into a frown of his own.

That's it, then? That can't be it. Link is Rhett's family—they need to be able to communicate in more than grabs and waves.

But... Rhett isn't the one to spearhead this. Straightening and rapping Link's knee, Rhett motions between them quickly. He points to their mouths. "Help," he states, then pokes Link gently in the chest. "You, help?"

Link falters, looking around the cave like there might be help elsewhere. Then his eyes flash with that intelligence Rhett has come to admire, and Link taps himself on the chest rapidly. Lays his hand there. Lifts his hand out, palm forward, and tucks his last two fingers down against his palm. His fingers and thumb make a hard angle, and he wiggles the "L" in front of him. 

"Hmm?" Rhett asks him to repeat, and Link does: hand on his chest. Hand extended, shaking that sign again.

_"I'm this."_

It comes across clear this time—that sign is his name, and excitement overcomes Rhett as he conveys understanding: points at Link. Does the shaking sign.

Link absolutely beams. Nods eagerly. Raising his eyebrows in question, he gives Rhett the spotlight with a gentle hand to his chest: _“and you?”_

Rhett thinks about it. How to name himself with a gesture? 

After an embarrassingly long time, Rhett is too shy to suggest anything. He shakes his head. 

Link thinks about it for a moment. A smile blooms over his face and he holds a single finger in the air and beckons the sky downwards, hooking his digit. 

Rhett copies, _“me, up hook?”_

Link nods, laughing kindly, and Rhett accepts it as his name without a second thought. 

That's the first night they begin making their own new language, entirely with their hands.

* * *

The wet season comes, and with it, life unfurls outside. Floodwaters expand the watering hole down into the valley, making the lake visible from the cave, and Link suggests moving a rock in front of the entrance to give them extra protection from wandering mouths. Rhett does, moving a boulder with great heaves and leaving just enough of a crack for smoke to expel.

Sometimes the sky rumbles and flashes, and Link trembles. The slap of water on the rock outside does little to calm him or remind him that this is natural, it's not a beast bearing down. Rhett tries a few times.

 _"Calm down. Safe,"_ he signs in the way they’ve invented, and Link gives a feeble, pale smile.

_"Can't."_

_"I'm here,"_ Rhett offers with a gentle smirk, and Link nods.

_"I know."_

Their dinner is roots and eggs left over from forage, but Link looks sick throughout. Once they settle down in their furs, Link is still trembling, though the cave is humid and warm.

Rhett can only watch Link's quaking form in the firelight for so long. 

If anything has been ingrained in him from their time together, it's the very first impulse Rhett had ever felt, now deeply-seeded in his bones: protect him.

With the fire crackling, Rhett hums and scoots over to Link's bedding, dragging his furs with him. Link turns, surprised, quickly signing apologies for disturbing—but Rhett shakes his head stern and settles in behind him, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. 

The shivers seem to leave Link out of shock alone. He stills. Breathing gradually eases back to normal. And by the time Rhett dares to wrap his arms around Link's small shoulders, Link is scooting back into him, desperate to be held and safe. 

Rhett gives that to him, pressing his forehead to the back of Link's head and breathing deep. They’re family. This is what family does.

Rhett can't help thinking, as they fall asleep listening to thunder outside, that Link smells like a place where he feels safe... though he doesn't know the word for it.

The next morning, Link makes a new sign for them: both arms crossed over his own chest in a gentle mock hug. It doesn't mean safety, but it's close, and it's thankful, and it makes Rhett smile and his skin tingle.

* * *

Time passes seamlessly. Banishment was supposed to be a death sentence, not permission to flourish.

Days turns to seasons, and seasons revolve, and both of the men are perfectly content to keep living the way they are... until one evening, when something approaches their den. (That’s what the bones found nearby suggest.)

There's a sound outside, beyond the boulder—curious and lithe—and Rhett and Link lock eyes over the fire, their work on new clothes for the hot season at a halt.

Rhett stands instinctively, and Link motions to him, frantic and fearful. _"Careful."_

_"Yes."_

There's a crack between the rock and the cave, and Rhett steadies his vision in it, squinting into the night. He's expecting an adventurous sloth or solitary adolescent lion, curious and self-hazarding, but what he sees somehow terrifies him more. He spins back to Link, heart pounding.

 _"What?"_ Link presses, ready to jump up.

They don't have a word for this.

 _"Us,"_ Rhett gestures slowly, and Link squints up at him.

_"Us...?"_

_"No. Yes. Us."_

When Link gawks at him in utter loss, Rhett racks his brain. Surely there's another word, something he can... 

Wait. 

Sometimes, when Rhett talks about hunting, there's a word he uses. Maybe that will work.

 _"Us,"_ he starts slowly, then adds, _"female."_

Link searches his brain for the second word, and once he remembers it, his eyes bolt open.

_"Female?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Open,"_ Link waves at the rock quickly, and a lump as hard as stone forms in Rhett's stomach.

Another person. Potentially another outcast, potentially dangerous... but Link had been in her existence once, alone and terrified and in danger. Rhett isn't about to argue. He hands Link his spear with a knowing look before grunting against the boulder, shoving it out of the way.

The woman stumbles back with a cry of surprise, watching fearful as the cave opens. Once faced with two men, she shies away—looks like she could bolt back into the fields.

But Link waves and sets the spear down in a way he definitely shouldn't. Smiles at her to welcome her.

Rhett is wary, yet he follows suit, and the woman creeps into the cave on deerlike toes, eyes searching for danger or deception. She won't find any.

She stands cautiously by the fire, turning and inspecting the life of belongings these men created together. And in that small time of distraction, Link motions to Rhett, running a gentle hand over his clavicle to give them a new word: _"woman."_

Her name.

* * *

That same night, Link discovers that she speaks his language. 

She tries once to greet them, and once is all it takes before Link's face lights with raw joy. She is from his land. She knows his tongue easy and water-like in a way Rhett does not. 

So many things Rhett doesn't have a word for, including the unpleasant displacement he feels as she and Link sit side by side and talk animatedly. They speak quickly with a lot of sounds and nodding, and Rhett is left to watch, only able to guess what's passing between them. 

Soon, Link glances over at Rhett and motions to him—yet he keeps talking to her, saying things about Rhett, and Rhett can't understand those either. He hopes they're good. Based on the way the woman watches him, baited? He can't tell. But she does nod in understanding. 

With nothing else to do, Rhett gets back to their chores. He sews clothes with a bone needle threaded with dried tendons as his new family talks and talks. He's happy for Link, he thinks. Link can use his words again. His voice. Link has a nice voice, too. Rhett misses his singing.

Even when they lie down to sleep, the talking doesn't stop, and Rhett lets the lull of unfamiliarity carry him into a reluctant sleep.

* * *

The next morning he's shaken awake and opens his eyes to a Link already making the sign for _"Quiet."_

Rhett sits up, sorer than usual, glancing over at the woman before blinking up at Link. 

_"Us,"_ Link motions to the outside world. _"Hunt?"_

 _"Yes,"_ Rhett agrees, standing and stretching—grabbing a spear for both of them. _"Close home?"_ he wonders as they're passing the boulder, and Link nods again. They have to keep her safe.

They make their usual route, senses chilled and alert as they trudge through bush and trees. Link has become a good hunter, no longer so fragile in the face of fangs and claws.

Rhett has his mind on their task so deeply that he startles when Link grabs his arm. Spinning and searching for danger, he finds none, and Link shakes his head and apologizes.

 _"Need to talk,"_ Link says slowly, his fingers halting and hesitant. 

Rhett presses his lips together, hands numb when he sluggishly signs back, _"Woman?"_

 _"Yes."_ Link pauses to find words, and that isn't unusual, but this time it twists Rhett's stomach sharp. Never has a thought been delivered delicately between them. _"She's looking."_

 _"Looking for what?"_ Rhett frowns, and this time Link signs carefully. It's not one they use often—again, mostly for hunting. Now repurposed.

_"Baby."_

_"She lost her baby...?"_ Rhett asks, and Link shakes his head in the way Rhett is dreading.

 _"No. Wants to make a baby. Is looking for... us,"_ Link explains, mashing the ideas together. Still, Rhett understands. There's a pause, and Rhett is already cold inside by the time Link admits, _"She wants to make a baby with me."_

Rhett stares down at Link. At his bright eyes and face free of grime and hopeful eyebrows. 

If Link wants a child, this is how he can have one. He can start his own family—a blood family—and he can go live his life with them. A child and a group of his own. That's how it's supposed to go, anyway. Who is Rhett to stop him?

 _"You want a baby?"_ Rhett finally manages to sign back, feeling emptier than he had before Link had wandered into his life.

At this, Link casts his gaze out over the fields. Seconds pass. An animal howls in the distance, and only with the reminder that this isn't a safe place to stand around does he sign back in a rush, _"Yes."_

That's it, then.

Rhett spins to continue their hunt, but Link grabs his arm again. Turning, he finds Link struggling for words. He soon settles on _"Bad?"_

 _"Okay,"_ Rhett nods, refusing to wear his reaction openly. It's too dangerous. 

_"You,"_ Link tries again, and then he says something he hasn't in a long while—since a night of fear and loud noises. He hugs his hands over his chest, peering up at Rhett with something like sadness in those clear eyes.

That word still doesn't mean anything, and so Rhett nods again, turning to resume the hunt. _"Okay."_

* * *

_"Stay here."_

Rhett is standing over Link and Link's mate, watching them carefully in the firelight. Link is seated by her, an arm draped over her side as she sleeps softly. She's beautiful in the glow of the embers. Rhett can see why Link likes her. They're the same. 

_"What?"_ Link motions, and Rhett repeats.

 _"You and her have a baby. Live here?"_ The question is barren, and Link considers his answer with soft blinks before Rhett hurriedly votes, _"Stay."_

_"You live—"_

**_"Stay,"_ ** Rhett presses into his palm, eyes pleading. When Link thinks more, Rhett continues. _"You, woman, baby, me. Good. Happy."_

 _"Yes?"_ Link hedges, and Rhett nods. This isn't what he wants—not really—but at least this way, he'll still have a family.

 _"I hunt. I help. I care for baby. Good. Stay."_ Rhett's hand movements are ardent, and in fifteen-thousand years, that desperation would learn to take on our word "please."

Link looks between his mate and Rhett. Thoughtful and judging. That intelligence he holds comes with the side effect of leaving Rhett out of decisions and processes—but the world takes pity on Rhett when he nods and strokes a hand down the woman's thigh. _"Okay. Yes."_

Rhett feels a relief so great he wants to cry, though he doesn't. 

Not until the night the woman says she's ready, and Link climbs on top of her on the other side of the cave, cherishing her with small touches and deep thrusts that sound like they feel good. Neither of them pay Rhett any mind, and so Rhett watches distantly, wondering if he could have been the one under Link.

* * *

Their baby isn't obvious at first. These things take time, and only after moons pass with Link and the woman talking together does her stomach begin to swell with life. Just a little.

With proof comes acceptance, of a sort. This is Rhett's family. It's a good life, and the woman is kind. She chooses her own name—a finger traced along her eyebrow—and it's soft and calming, just like her. 

Rhett takes care of her, too; if he cares about Link, then he cares about Link's mate, and about Link's future child, and what more can he do than become another provider as he said he would? He brings her water and holds her hand when she cries out in discomfort, and when Link is ill or exhausted, Rhett even lays with her and holds her, and she nuzzles into him like he means just as much as the father of her child.

It isn't so bad. If only Link treated him this way, too.

Pregnancy is draining. The bigger she grows, the more she eats, and the more help she needs, and that's okay. It's expected. Life is hard to sustain. If nothing else, the bones show that, too.

She sleeps a lot, and one night when she's dozing gently, Link pads across their cave and settles beside Rhett in the floor. 

They aren't face to face, but the signs couldn’t be for anyone else when Link speaks to the fire. 

_"You... want a baby?"_

_"Your baby,"_ Rhett points out, smirking. _"Good."_

 _"After me,"_ Link clarifies with his long fingers. _"With her. After my baby, you have a baby with her."_ Rhett stares at Link's knuckles, shocked. But Link doesn't put him on the spot. Doesn't demand an answer. Just adds, _"She said yes. You can have a baby. One family. Us."_

Does Rhett want a child...? 

He isn't sure. He should want one. It would be the right thing to do, to make their group bigger. She’s willing and he’s ready, and Link is ready as well. 

But...

 _"No,"_ Rhett decides in timid motions similar to a whisper. Link finally turns to look up at him in surprise, yet Rhett doesn't meet his eyes.

_"Why no?"_

_"No. Your baby is good. It's you,"_ Rhett tries to sign, struggling for the meaning of it. _"Me? No. You? Yes.”_

And he isn't sure Link understands, but a few moments later Link settles in and rests his head on Rhett's shoulder, curling up against him so they can watch the fire together.

* * *

With babies come blood, and with blood comes danger.

The child can't be born in the cave—the smell of birth attracts danger, and so it's an early dawn morning when Rhett escorts Link, who's carrying his wailing mate across his bulging arms, down to the valley where it's easy to see predators. Rhett's spear is tight in his hands as he gazes around, hyper-alert, and Link lays her down in a swathe of grass where their baby will join the world.

The process is long and terrible. A stretch of leather placed between her teeth helps muffle her screams of pain, but they're still screams, and on the horizon Rhett can see the distant shapes of cats skirting the field. Without a hiding place from which to attack, they'll stay away... yet animals can be unpredictable, and Rhett isn't going to let his guard down.

Link isn't sure what to do with himself; he changes swiftly between watching for threats while brandishing his knife and rushing to her side to comfort her and check on the baby's progress. 

It's slow. It takes hours, all the while exposed and vulnerable, but it's going as well as it can for three outcasts. 

Link returns to her side, and Rhett doesn't need to speak his language to register to sudden, quiet alarm in his voice. Rhett turns, and Link is gesturing to him frantically.

_"Blood blood blood blood blood."_

Glancing around, Rhett steps over briskly and surveys his mate. 

She's bleeding. Badly.

Fear rails up Rhett's spine. This isn’t a good sign, but if he's going to help, he needs to be the strong one. He looks at Link.

_"Take her to water. Water helps blood."_

Link nods, nods, gathers her screaming into his arms and nods, following Rhett to the watering hole.

What few elk have gathered at its edge flee with the pained woman approaching. Link mumbles to her, saying soft and shaky things, and Rhett checks for danger before tucking her hair behind her ear.

 _"You good,"_ he signs, but her eyes are shut tight and she doesn't see it as Link lowers her bottom half into the water. As hoped for, the blood clouds and tendrils away, and a bit of the distress eases from her features, her pupils crossing dizzily from exertion.

Link is saying things, knelt at her side, and Rhett returns to his vigil.

The watering hole is thrice as dangerous as the field, but at least here she'll be more comfortable. Less scent of blood to attract beasts from afar. And they appear to be alone.

Link is beside her—holding her hand, worrying it between his own deft fingers, toying with the clay beads of the necklace he’d made her and saying things that make her screams quiet and tension lessen. 

Any moment now, Rhett knows. He's seen a few births. She's due, and they'll get the baby from the water, and rush home while watching their backs. Any moment now.

The water explodes. 

Rhett barely has time to turn and catch a glimpse of the crocodile—its body as thick as a tree—its great jaw locked onto the bulge of her stomach. It's already pulling her. Emotionless and hungry.

It hauls with its impossible muscle, and the sound Link's mate makes is inhuman. Blood-curdling, hands grasping for her mate as she's dragged underwater, their wet fingers slipping and failing—and Link screams, jumping in after her.

But her cries bubble out and the water is turning red and Rhett has only ever known the single goal of "protect him".

He lunges to the roiling murk and rips Link out by his midsection, blood frenzied and weightless as he hauls the smaller man over his shoulder. Link doesn't kick and scream. He goes limp, entirely, and as Rhett lets out a wronged cry that doesn't get the time it deserves, he snatches up his spear and sprints for their cave. 

He knows Link is watching the water over his shoulder.

He's watching the crimson spot where his mate had vanished.

* * *

Their cave is open. They'd left it that way for a hasty retreat, and Rhett doesn't waste time delivering Link to the furs on the floor before rushing over and closing it with the boulder. It's an easier task than usual. His heart is pumping and muscles are on overdrive.

The second they’re safe, Link is reaching for him, face morphed into unadulterated grief, the beginnings of loud sobs warned in his breathlessness. Rhett slides to him, skinning his knees, and he wraps Link up in his arms as Link's screams begin.

They're piercing, uncaring for the attention they bring, as they should be. Each deep breath he manages to find leaves him in a shredded, anguished shriek, eyes spilling wet onto Rhett's chest.

If Rhett is still supposed to be strong, he fails. As he rocks Link and listens to his mourning, he crushes his eyes closed and lets his own tears fall into Link's hair. He doesn't answer Link’s cries, but he’s loud in the way his hands grasp Link tight. 

Link doesn't try to control himself, and Rhett doesn't want him to. Furtive and hollowed out, Link chokes against him for his mate and child, so close to knowing his mother and fathers. Their family is halved—just like that, as these things usually go when the bones talk—and Rhett never could have guessed he would be just as devastated.

* * *

They don't speak all night. 

Link cries and cries and stares into the fire, and once it's dried the tears from his cheeks, he cries anew and lets Rhett bring him jugs of water from their stores.

The sun sets outside and it's quiet. Not even the howls and roars in the distance can penetrate the cave. 

Rhett plays it over in his well-capable mind.

There was no way to save her or the baby. Those jagged teeth in her belly, the blood in the water. He aches deep down—like they had abandoned her. But he's seen births, and he knows. There was no other resolution. The second the beast struck, it had been over. 

It was the risk they took, going down to the water. (That's where her battered bones will be unearthed—a mockingly short distance from the safety of the den—and so we know.)

Rhett wonders if Link hates him for suggesting it. If he hates him for hauling him out of the water and back to safety.

When Rhett lies down for the night, he steals one last look at Link. The man is frozen, staring into the flames with his knees to his chest. So Rhett bundles himself up and closes his eyes, trusting that Link will sleep when he's tired.

A long time passes struggling for rest, and then the blankets shift. Link is sliding down next to him, face solemn and wanting, and Rhett accepts him without a thought. He swaddles Link to his chest. Feels his silent sobs in his bones, where they shouldn't be able to reach, but they do, and we know.

When Rhett takes a deep breath, he isn't sure what he's doing, yet he lets out a sound in a steady stream. He tries to replicate it the way he'd heard it once, and isn't sure it's right. Nonetheless, Link stops crying against his rumbling chest.

They might not know how to speak to each other the way he had with his mate, but maybe Rhett's voice can be a source of comfort anyway.

* * *

With time, everything gets easier. They awkwardly relearn the life they'd lived before two became three became almost four, and in daylight and completed hunts and crafting together, Link learns to smile again, his lips curving up naturally. That's what it takes for Rhett to smile again, too, his only family left rediscovering happiness.

Words come back slowly, but they come back. 

Every pass of a moon overhead is spent in each other's arms, sleeping while embraced and sedated on safety.

It's after a late meal when Rhett gets Link's attention.

 _"You... You want baby?"_ he asks carefully. 

Enough time has passed. It should be okay.

Link stares in the orange light, then signs, _"No woman."_

 _"Find woman,"_ Rhett answers easily. _"You leave. You have baby."_

 _"You?"_ Link asks, eyebrows high.

Rhett swallows. _"I stay."_

 _"No,"_ Link decides quickly, shaking his head.

 _"I... leave with you?"_ Rhett tries again. Just as quickly, Link shakes his head again.

_"No. No baby."_

_"Why?"_

_"Me and you. No baby."_ Link doesn't seem sad when he says it. He seems... happy, actually. He gives a small smile. _"Us, alone. No baby. Good."_

Rhett blinks a few times. He tries out a joke: _"Make baby with me?"_

It works; Link laughs, his shoulders shaking as he resumes repairing the bowl in his lap with malleable clay.

Rhett smiles at him fondly, returning his attention to sharpening his spearhead.

When Link stands, Rhett expects him to be fetching water for his work. He isn't expecting him to snatch the spear and set it aside—for Link to crawl into his lap and feel him.

His touch doesn't look the same as it had on her. It doesn't feel as Rhett had imagined it, either. He shuts his eyes and lets Link caress him. Press their faces close, race their hearts. Rhett grins.

 _"I can't have baby,"_ he signs, and Link laughs again, shaking his head and guiding Rhett back to he can lay between his legs.

When their bodies meet, it's loud. Link makes noises that need no translation, and Rhett's deep responses only seem to feed him more. Link is greedy in his recovery of sharing himself, and although it’s sore, it’s also familiar and feels right, and Rhett is once again bereft of the word for a person in whose arms he feels safe.

* * *

Life sneaks up on us, and the weight of life is a much heavier burden when there's love therein.

Seasons fall into a rapid spiral. For two loners, they live exceptionally well in their cave, away from the eyes of predators and other humans. 

Rhett still hunts. Before he leaves every day, he holds Link close, because they both know, and they both fear. Time makes the body weak. It's how these things go, and the risk they've taken by living in solitude.

The end of the rainy season makes the grass slick. Easier to lose one's footing, especially when that footing is already unstable with age, and a slip turns into a broken foot too easily and too far from home. 

The moment the pain shoots through Rhett's leg, he knows. 

He likes to think that Link knows, too, and that Link will accept it.

Rhett stares up at the sky, covered in mud, the fur over him rustling in the crisp breeze. It's chilly on the ground. Not unpleasant, just brisk. His spear has landed nearby, and he doesn’t bother grabbing it.

All he can do is wait. 

Things sound off in the distance and he has a choice to make: between lying in silent wait, or expediting the process. 

Would it be worse—to prolong this? Or would he regret it if he cried out, advertising his own lameness? He doesn't know. But he's not going anywhere on this foot. He's taken his last step. He knows, and his bones let us know, in turn.

Eyes burning under the blue of the sky that looks a lot like Link's eyes, Rhett takes a deep breath and sings. He cries and thinks about his mate, and his vision blurs and stings as things that snarl get closer.

Heavy stalking. 

He knows that sound, and he never thought he would be grateful for the swift killing nature of the beasts he's avoided until now. He’s watched them with elk. It won’t take long.

They creep close. Sniffing, furry heads surveying his final resting space from over his own standing height, peering down curiously at the injured mammal on the ground. Their sustenance. Those giant, peeled-back lips and wriggling noses testing his strength on the breeze. 

It'll be fast. 

Rhett stifles a sob—forces it into a small smile. He knows he’s lucky for the life he's lived. He might not know the sign for "lucky", but he feels it in his bones (these bones that we examine, these bones right here). Most don’t make it this far, and he hopes his mate can also feel it when he crosses his arms over his chest in that nonsense sign he'd been shown for years.

It means something, there at the end. Something ineffable.

As for us? We can only speculate.

**Author's Note:**

> If you couldn't guess by now, I'm fascinated by prehistoric life.
> 
> Some clarifications for accuracy:  
> -this fic disregards place entirely, as well as specific overlap of species' span of existence  
> -it's not entirely agreed upon whether early hominids could speak, but paleontologists theorize they did in fact develop sign language early on  
> -Neanderthal were usually shorter than Homo Sapiens, and were not strangers to art as a form of expression  
> -it's entirely possible that early humans disregarded emotions when it came to procreation, but 1) recalling the sexual-social structure of bonobo communities gave me benefit of doubt enough to make Rhett jealous, and 2) it's just a fic sldkfj  
> -there is no way in hell even the largest Neanderthal would be able to haul an Irish elk bull fifteen miles lmao  
> -I'm not an expert on this... it's just an interest, so please take it with a grain of salt ❤️️


End file.
